


Familiar Pages

by 64K



Series: Justice or Mercy (Clive gen oneshots) [4]
Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Books, Canon Compliant, Friendship, Gen, Headcanon-heavy, Reading Aloud, lots of narnia and tolkien mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:20:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25209850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/64K/pseuds/64K
Summary: During a visit to Future London's bookshop, Clive talks books with the professor, Flora, and Luke, and learns that there may be a few more similarities between himself and Luke than he'd first realized.
Relationships: Clive & Flora Reinhold, Clive & Hershel Layton, Clive & Luke Triton
Series: Justice or Mercy (Clive gen oneshots) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1749358
Comments: 13
Kudos: 23





	Familiar Pages

"Did Mr. Lewis ever write more of the Narnia series, Big Luke? I've been waiting so long for a new book. Please tell me." Luke's eyes shine despite the dim lighting of the bookstore. "You kept reading them, didn't you? Please tell me you didn't forget about Narnia."

Maybe it's just because of the heavy, humid air of Future London, or maybe it's because of how tight space is in this tiny bookshop, but Clive is sweating bullets. He's regretting showing his travelling companions the bookshop more every second; he'd never realized how many small holes there were in the future world he's created until now. He has a daily newspaper, filled with 1972's world news. He has a casino, and an elite upper class as its patrons. He has restaurants, and businesses, and scientists developing technologies the public would never dream of, and so much more—and yet, he didn't think to hire C.S. Lewis to write more _Narnia_ stories.

He wipes his forehead, adjusts his cap, and summons up his most apologetic smile. Hopefully Luke won't react too adversely. "I remember reading those, Luke, when I was your age, but… I honestly can't remember if Mr. Lewis wrote any more. What with fighting the professor for all of these years, my mind's been… preoccupied, I suppose. I lost track of many of the things I used to enjoy." It's a weak excuse, but it's the best he can do on the fly.

It isn't good enough.

Luke startles, then stares, almost furiously. "I can't believe it. I would _never_ forget Narnia. I just couldn't! I'll never be too old for it."

"I didn't say I was too old," Clive starts, but he trails away as Luke storms between two rows of bookshelves. Hopefully Luke encounters _Dawn Treader_ somewhere on those shelves, and hopefully he hasn't read it yet; maybe that will calm him somewhat. Clive knows it's in here somewhere; he bought two copies on its release day—one for the bookstore, and one for himself.

Out of the corner of his eye, Clive sees the professor watching him closely. He's been doing that a lot lately—or, rather, he's been doing it all along. But ever since they arrived in Chinatown, the professor hasn't let Clive out of his sight. Does he suspect something? He must. He wouldn't be the Professor Hershel Layton that Clive's looked up to all of these years if he _didn't_ suspect something was amiss.

Clive wipes his forehead again.

Is it his act? Perhaps he's not Luke-ish enough. He needs to act more… candid, needs to speak his mind more. Maybe he should—

"Where are the murder mysteries?"

Flora's voice pierces through the fog in Clive's mind. She's standing in front of him, her face distraught. "I've looked everywhere, and I can't find a single shelf with them. _Please_ tell me that people still read murder mysteries in the future, Luke."

Clive can feel the professor's eyes staring through his back. He can't mess this up. He needs to respond calmly, with a logical explanation.

"There haven't been many written recently, Flora," he hears himself say, his voice sounding much more confident than he feels. "With the Family's reign of terror over London, well… let's just say that lighthearted fiction has been the trend over the last ten years."

"Oh." Flora seems disappointed, but she forces a smile. "I didn't think about that. I'm sorry if I was insensitive."

She took that well—better than Luke did, at least. "That's quite alright," Clive says lightly, feeling confidence return to him. "You might like _Day of the Triffids,_ though, if you like darker stories." He gestures towards a shelf labelled "science fiction." "It's a bit of an older book, but I remember you liked that one. Eldritch horrors always were your bread and butter, weren't they?"

He wouldn't actually know, but he has the odd impression that she'd like that sort of thing. He hopes his bluff will pay off.

"Were they… I mean, are they _ever,"_ Flora breaths, confronted with a wall of books. She finds the book Clive was referring to and drops to the ground immediately, leaning against the shelf and starting in at once, lost in a world of carnivorous plants and desperate struggles for survival.

Clive notices the professor's expression shift slightly, as if he's displeased by Flora's book of choice. At last, the man's scrutinizing someone other than Clive. Clive might as well take advantage of that. "I wouldn't worry, professor," he says with all the Luke-like bravado he can muster. "You know how sensitive I always was, and that book never scared me."

It had, badly, when he was Luke's age, but the professor didn't need to know that.

"Hmm," says the professor. He doesn't seem convinced, by Clive's statement or by Clive's act.

What is he doing wrong?

It's the books, isn't it? He must have noticed how few of them are from later than 1962. They should never have come here. Curse Clive's pride, wanting to show off his beautiful Future London, which will soon be crushed to rubble, to people who he's supposed to be manipulating. The plan's going to be ruined—

"What sort of books do you read now, Luke?"

Clive blinks. The professor is smiling innocently enough, but he must have something planned, some sort of trap. Clive chooses his words carefully. "Well, occasionally, I do still enjoy the things I used to read. Narnia, as you'll remember, and E. Nesbit, and the like. But I think I'm capable of handling the sorts of things you read, now."

He'd been lying through his teeth throughout this whole escapade, but right now, Clive was almost speaking truthfully. He'd always leaned closer to Luke's tastes than Flora's when it comes to fiction. The young Clive didn't like being scared. He liked comfortable books, quiet fantasies. Constance had always been more excited by science fiction, though. Clive had grown to appreciate it after seeing her enthusiasm, but, still, he'd never really outgrown what his ten-year-old self had enjoyed; he'd bought (and would continue to buy) each Narnia book as it came out, after all.

A quiet chuckle breaks through Clive's thoughts. He blinks, eyes coming to focus on Layton. The professor is smiling. From the look in his eyes, it's obvious that he'd be laughing if he weren't such a gentleman. "You're sure you can handle them? But do you?"

"Do I… what?" Clive stutters, struggling to remember the exact phrasing of his reply to the professor.

"Do you read what I like to read?"

What _does_ the professor like to read? Heavy archeology tomes? Memoirs of historical figures? Sherlock Holmes? Would Luke know something like that? Clive racks his brain. "I...I could," he starts hesitantly. "And I will, if you'd be kind enough to give me some recommendations."

For a second, he's terrified that the professor will scoff, half-expecting him to laugh, and say "Luke knows exactly what I like to read, you fraud." But instead, Layton leans forward, reaching onto the shelf behind him. He pulls a book off of the shelf, and puts it into Clive's hands. "Do you remember this, Luke?"

Clive blinks down at the book in his hands. The cover is grey, a dragon emblazoned across it. A mountain ridge winds across the top, and below that, the title: _The Hobbit._ His breath catches in his throat.

"Your father always loved Tolkien. I'd have to practically rip the books out of his hands during university; he'd rather read them than study for his exams." The professor chuckles, shaking his head. "I never used to be interested in anything but studying, especially back then, but, recently, he finally convinced me to start reading some of his Tolkien books. He told me about how he used to read this one, in particular, to you every night until you'd fall asleep. Do you remember?"

Clive remembers.

Mum and Dad would read it together. It was the only time the three of them really had together; they both left for work so early in the morning, and it wasn't until the evening that they'd come home. He always tried not to fall asleep too quickly, so they could be together longer. He remembered the way Mum used to read when it was her turn—the way she did Bilbo's voice always made him laugh—and the way Dad's fingers felt, running through his hair as he drifted off.

He can't remember how the book ends. He wonders if they ever got that far, before…

"Yes," he says quietly. "That was so long ago."

The professor nods. "I know. But if you both liked it so much, I thought that it might be worth reading for myself. But I haven't been able to make myself sit down and read it." He smiles. "I thought that, perhaps, we should read it together sometime."

Clive stares. What is the professor playing at? He must know. He must know that he isn't Future Luke. But, still… "I'd like that," he hears himself say. "When… when this is all over."

"Of course." The professor looks across the room, and Clive follows his gaze, seeing Flora, absorbed in her book, and the bookshelf-corridor where Luke had run between minutes ago. "I'm sure that Flora and Little Luke would love to hear it as well."

"I'm sure," says Clive distantly, lost in thought. He feels almost sick.

When it's all over, they'll all be dead, won't they? Or, if not them, many other people will be. This idea of reading together with Luke, Flora, and the professor… it's never going to happen.

He almost wishes—

" _Luke!"_

Luke dashes out from between the bookshelves, a book clutched tightly to his chest. "I found it! I found another Narnia book! He did write another one!" His eyes shine as he holds up a copy of _Dawn Treader._ "We _are_ in the Future after all!"

His smile is contagious. Clive grins, shrugging nonchalantly. "Did you doubt me?"

"Only a little," says Luke, looking at the ground. "I'm… sorry for getting mad earlier. We should read this together. I know you'll love it."

There comes that stabbing pain again; Luke, innocent as he may be, is incredibly skilled at wielding the knife of guilt. "Good idea, Luke," he says carelessly. "We have a little time, at least, before we need to confront the future Layton."

Really, reading this with him is the least he can do.

Flora, with curious eyes, and the professor, with a fond gaze, watches Clive read aloud about a boy named Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and watches Luke listen, enraptured. The bookshop is cozy and quiet, and, as Clive gets lost inside the story, it's so easy to forget that the camaraderie between the four of them is as fictional as the book he's reading, and that he isn't truly the Future Luke, reading a book that he'd loved long ago, reunited with old friends.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a request by cayenne-twilight on Tumblr, who asked for a story about Clive's "I think I can handle the books the professor reads now" comment in the bookshop in UF/LF. Thank you so much for the request; it was so much fun thinking about the types of books that the gang would like to read! Also, credit goes to TheMockingJ3 for the idea of Clark being into Tolkien; I borrowed the idea from their fic "Quack!Quack!" about Clark and Hershel's university days. Definitely check it out!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


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